Backstage was a storm of laughter and high-fives as the drama cast gathered in a chaotic, glittery huddle.
"WE DID IT!" Tracy squealed, tossing her flower crown into the air.
Daniel gave an exaggerated bow, still in donkey ears. "I expect an award for my unmatched elegance."
"You mean for your rear-end wiggle you did back there?" Catherine shot back, snorting.
Julian and Miles bumped fists, both visibly proud of their scene-stealing fairy antics, while Ethan mumbled something about "never doing this again" and was immediately ignored.
Even Daman—glitter still clinging to his collarbone—couldn't hide the subtle smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
Mike slumped against the wall with his clipboard, like he'd just finished fighting a war. "It didn't crash and burn… I can't believe it. It actually worked."
"You sound so surprised." Alex said while ruffling her hair.
"I am surprised." Mike replied, dead serious.
The group gradually filtered out toward the audience for the final performances. But Alex lingered back.
She had one last act tonight.
—
Inside the empty dressing room, Nat and Catherine were waiting with the gown carefully spread out and a makeup kit open like a surgeon's table.
"Quickly. We have fifteen minutes." Nat said, snapping her fingers.
Alex slipped out of her costume, and both of them began working ad though they were elite stylists under pressure—zipping, powdering, brushing, and twisting Alex's long hair into a soft updo with delicate pins.
When the transformation was complete, Alex stood before the mirror.
She wore a flowing midnight-blue gown with soft layers that moved like water. Her hair framed her face elegantly, a touch of silver glitter on her lids making her eyes pop. She looked… ethereal.
No one would guess she had been bickering as a fake Shakespearean boyfriend barely half an hour ago.
"Whoa…" Catherine whispered.
"What? Now you see my beauty?" Alex smirked.
"Wha...! I am still prettier than you!" She blushed furiously.
Nat smirked. "You're going to break a few hearts tonight."
—
By the time Alexandra walked toward the stage, whispers had already spread through the crowd. Some audience members turned, wide-eyed.
"Isn't that…?"
"That's Lysander!"
"No way. She looks completely different—"
The lights dimmed. The auditorium hushed.
The grand piano sat alone in the spotlight.
Alexandra took a deep breath, then walked across the stage with quiet grace. She bowed once. Then sat, letting her fingers hover over the keys.
Her eyes briefly scanned the crowd. She didn't see anyone. Just shadows.
Then, she began to play.
Soft, haunting notes echoed through the hall—like ripples across a calm lake. Her voice joined soon after, clear and warm, weaving through the melody like a gentle breeze.
No one moved. No one even breathed.
—
Among the audience, Daman stared silently.
For a moment, her music wasn't just music.
It was a memory.
He saw it clearly—like it was yesterday.
He was just a boy. Clothes dirty, face wet with tears after being roughed up by some older kids during a noble gathering. He'd wandered through the sprawling estate of the Salvatore Mansion, searching for his mother and trying not to cry more.
He'd stumbled into the family garden—hidden from most of the guests.
And there, under the arch of blooming roses and wisteria, was a little girl in a frilly pale-blue dress. Her fingers danced across a pristine white piano set in the garden pavilion. She played alone, unaware of the world. A bubble of beauty untouched by cruelty.
That was the first time Daman saw Alexandra Althea Salvatore.
She hadn't noticed him.
But he had watched her. Entranced.
It was the memory he never forgot.
A piece of light from a past long buried in shadows.
And now, she was here—older, radiant, with a voice that held that same sense of fragile longing.
His fingers clenched into fists in his lap.
Then—buzz.
His phone vibrated once in his pocket. His face darkened as soon as he read the message.
A heavy silence fell over him, the weight of reality crashing over the melody.
Beside him, Daniel noticed the shift in his friend's posture.
"What's wrong?" he asked quietly.
Daman didn't answer immediately.
His eyes were still on Alex.
His voice, when it came, was low. Cold.
"…We have a problem."